


An Exile's Home

by NutsFox



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Angst, EVEN THE ANIMALS, EVERYONE HURTS AND NOTHING IS GOOD BASICALLY, Emotional Hurt, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, War of the Thorns | Burning of Teldrassil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:58:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NutsFox/pseuds/NutsFox
Summary: While out gathering supplies, Jasculs - a believed Alliance traitor - is assaulted by bounty hunters that severely injuries his gryphon. Somehow, he ends up at Teldrassil, during its burning, and, somehow, everything only gets worse.





	1. A Dash of Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> thinking about teldrassil's burning and then playing through it inspired me and i just had to write how it absolutely fucks up my weird anxious nelf dad. and then it got super long and i had to upload it here too bc i put so much effort into it
> 
> im sorry in advance

A gunshot rams into the tree to the left of Jasculs, only about an inch or two from his head. The hit part of the trunk splinters, making needle-sized pieces of bark rain over Jasculs and Sæunn. Some dig into his skin, though he is too busy steering himself and his gryphon out of shield, hammer, bullet, and knife range.

The distance between each tree in the woods widens, and, finally, it’s safe for Sæunn to take off. Jasculs tabs her flank with his foot, and she spreads her wings and jumps up.

A striped, blue saber with a red mane jumps out from between the darkness of the trees, front paws stretched out. Its claws dig into Sæunn’s right side and Sæunn screams. She flaps and twirls and kicks to get the assaulter off, but to no avail.

Jasculs turns around on Sæunn’s back and, as he kicks and wields his glaives, he holds on and keeps his balance with his tail. His heart is racing and his face is reddening as they ascend, Sæunn’s screams in his ears and the saber refusing to let go. They’re several tenths of feet up, and the fall will surely kill the saber if it would just let _go_ -

The saber bares its teeth and Jasculs successfully kick it in the mouth. It lets out a screech-like scream, its grip loosening. Jasculs kicks it again, and it falls.

Taking no moment to watch the saber, Jasculs inspects Sæunn’s wounds. Blood gushes out from eight deep and long claw marks, down Sæunn’s flank and thigh. He runs a gentle finger across one of the wounds and, behind him, Sæunn whines in pain.

 _She’ll never run again,_ he thinks.

Turning around, Jasculs scratches Sæunn’s head. Then, he takes a moment to look around at their surroundings. The woods are way behind them, still moving away, below is nothing but a grey, green, and blue, and in front is miles and miles of broken stone ground, river running in the cleaves, with mountains to the right and the coast and Teldrassil in front. They have nowhere to go in front, so they will have to get to Sol and Kina at camp. But that way are the assaulters, and they will just injure Sæunn more-

Sæunn whines, pulling Jasculs out of his thoughts. Her blue feathers are bathing in a yellow-golden glow.

Jasculs looks back just in time to see the wrath bolt slam into Sæunn’s wing. Then, he feels a blow to his right, the wind changing direction, and such an incredible headache all sense is eliminated from his body for a few seconds.

A few seconds too much, as the next thing he feels is a giant bat taking his arms into its claws. He writhes and kicks weakly, his vision and hearing still recovering.

First, his hearing sets in. Somewhere close yet also far away a gryphon is screaming, and it takes his brain a moment to recognize it as Sæunn. Jasculs writhes again, stronger this time, a whine and what would have been a plea had he been able to speak escaping his lips. The harsh winds take away all sound he makes, however.

Second, his vision. They’re diving towards the ground and a frantic ball of blue feathers and rust-brown fur.

One last time, Jasculs writhes and begins to swing. The bat’s flying staggers and something much alike words come from it, although Jasculs pays it no mind. He keeps swinging until his arms twist around in the bat’s grip. Suddenly, he’s upside down, booted feet against the bat’s chest. The bat screeches in surprise and attempts to tighten its grip, but too late- Jasculs is too determined and too well-positioned to be stopped.

Using his legs to take off, away from the bat and down towards Sæunn, Jasculs feels the grip on his arms disappear. Spreading his wings, he flaps as hard and fast as he can.

Behind him, Jasculs hears distressed screeching - or is it cursing? - from the bat, though it’s as if he hears it through water. All his focus is on Sæunn and the distance between them; it’s lessening, but _enough?_ Will he actually reach her in time? No, he will, he _will,_ he won’t let Sæunn hit the ground and die, won’t let her body grumble and explode under the pressure of the crash, won’t let her innards be exposed for vultures to-

Grunting harshly so a small spurt of hot green - Jasculs would tell you it’s fel - is spat out of his nose. He can’t let his mind run off now. Not when Sæunn is so close he can almost touch her.

With two last beats of his wings, Jasculs is able to get his arms beneath Sæunn’s body. She stills at his touch, although still whining loudly.

Jasculs knows she’s heavy, but he also knows he can _somewhat_ carry her. Yes, _he_ rides _her_ but they play-fight like equals, and he’s picked her up a couple of times. Never been able to carry her for much longer than a few minutes, but he doesn’t _have_ minutes now. He has seconds and he needs to slow the fall enough to make it survivable. He can do that. At least, that’s what Jasculs tells himself.

He’s absolutely right. Their landing is almost _soft_.

With utmost care, Jasculs sets Sæunn down to inspect her wing. It’s burned, several feathers gone. But that looks to be all the visible injury there is.

A gentle touch of the wing makes Sæunn whine. She hides her face in Jasculs’ chest and squaks unhappily, and, instinctively, he holds her head close. But that’s all the movement he can muster; even his heart seems to stop for a moment.

He touched the wing where the wing-bone is.

Closing his eyes, Jasculs takes a deep breath in an attempt to steady his breathing and heartbeat. It doesn’t work and only succeeds in making him cry. It’s a soft cry, and a choked one; one he attempts to cover with his hand and swallow back down as tears swell his eyes and wet his blindfold.

Suddenly, Jasculs can hear the sound of flapping wings again. He’s immediately on his feet, glaives- glaives _gone_ , he must have dropped them when he was flung off of Sæunn’s back. As he raises his fists, ready to defend and throw a punch, his mind is screaming.

The bat lands on the ground and changes form. In its place stands a purple Troll at about his own height, bright orange hair in a mohawk on their head. They’re clad in greens and blues and browns, pauldrons bearing the symbol the druid. Tufts of fur and feathers are bound to their staff, which, without taking their eyes off of Jasculs, they throw away. It’s not an aimed throw, but rather an “I don’t want to hurt you and am laying down my weapon to prove it”-throw.

Jasculs eyes the staff, then the Troll. Their expression remains unreadable.

He doesn’t let down his guard.

The Troll sighs before they speak with a heavy accent and an up-giving tone. “Ah kno’ Ah hurt ya and ye gryphon- in truth, Ah was only amin’ fe ya, but ye gryphon is faster dan Ah thought it-”

“She,” Jasculs interrupts.

“Wat?”

“ _She_ ,” he repeats, “she’s a she and her name is Sæunn. Fucking _respect that_ when you almost got her _killed_.”

For a moment, the Troll doesn’t answer. They simply watch Jasculs, eyes constantly moving. Then, they sigh before nodding.

“Of course,” they simply say at first. “She be a very skilled flyer. No wonder ya have escaped so many bounty hunters.”

“If you want my head, piss off. I’m not giving it up for a price,” he retorts, muscles tensing.

“Ah do not want ye head. Well, not anymore. T’was why we initially attacked ya, but…” The Troll shakes their head and, for the first time since they landed, looks away from Jasculs. “Ah don’t have de heart fe it anymore. Ya don’t deserve t’ be killed, or even t’ have a bounty on ye head,” they explain. Their voice wavers, but only with emotion, not with hesitation or an improvised lie. What emotion, however, Jasculs cannot tell.

Finally, Jasculs relaxes. He drops heavily to the ground next to Sæunn, his hand once again finding way to the top of her head. His own head is supported by his other hand, placed on his cheek, while his tail flops and wags around in distress.

“May Ah take a look at Se- _Sæunn_?” asks the Troll.

Jasculs doesn’t lift his head as he mumbles his reply, “Only if I get your name.”

“Mo’hir,” replies the Troll without hesitation.

Jasculs furrows his brows. During his travels he’s learned some about Trolls, but not nearly enough to take a guess at what gender that name is usually assigned to. For all he knows, this Troll could be the only one with that name.

“And your pronouns are…?”

At first, Mo’hir laughs. Jasculs moves his head to properly have them in his vision as they move closer. Sæunn hisses, and Jasculs gives a little more energy to scratching her head.

Mo’hir lets Sæunn smell them, then makes a plant grow out of the earth. Within minutes it blossoms, and neither Jasculs or Sæunn can help to stare. A small smile adorns Jasculs’ lips; the kind that can only be described as nostalgic. As the flowers fall off the plant and are replaced by berries, the smile only grows. Sæunn immediately starts plucking off the berries and eating them.

“I’m a woman, mon,” says Mo’hir finally, and Jasculs nods.

A distant beat reaches Jasculs’ ears, which twitch. Mo’hir obviously hears it, too, as she backtracks her crouch to look in the direction of the woods. Jasculs directs his gaze that way as well, where he spots a horse with person he considers small on top. The two sets of pointy ears - one pair where they normally are on the head, and another pair barely sticking above their shoulders - is a dead give-away to Jasculs. He sighs in relief and, despite the situation, laughs.

“Ye know ‘em?”

“Yeah. That’s my boyfriend and pum- daughter. Though she’s not technically my daughter, I just sort of act as her self-proclaimed guardian and body-guard and dad, y’know?” Jasculs replies, voice light and words rushing out of his mouth like a happy little river.

Mo’hir is silent for a while. When she speaks, her voice is croaked - “Right.” - though Jasculs doesn’t hear it. A thought has hit him, and it’s making him wonder in the way that makes his brows knit together.

“Where’s the rest of your group? You _were_ more than just you, right?”

Mo’hir hums a _yes_ -sound. “They be waitin’ about ten feet away from ‘ere in de direction we came from. Ye have jus’ been too busy starin’ at de ground t’ notice ‘em,” snickers Mo’hir, though, as she speaks, she makes less and less effort to hide her laugh. Jasculs simply face-palms his forehead, which only makes Mo’hir laugh even harder.

At first, Jasculs simply grumbles before wincing at the stinging he just caused his forehead and palm. Then, he groans and has to close his eyes as his vision gets blurry and head throbs, and as every single one of his muscle tenses up, he feels dizzy and sick. He sways and feels something poking his side and then something else gripping onto his shoulder. There is noise, too, something that might have been a voice, but yet again it’s as if he’s hearing everything through water.

The only way he can describe the pain that follows is being in an explosion while at the same time being an explosion. Every part of him screams as it burns and feels like is torn apart, and Jasculs knows he’s screaming, he _knows_ he is, but he can’t _hear it_. He can’t see either or feel or smell - the only thing his nerves are absorbing is the pain.

He doesn’t know how long it goes on for - any sense of knowing that isn’t pain has left his mind. But it doesn’t disappear until something sings its song to him.

His vision comes back, and so does the feeling in his body and his hearing. Five people are bent over him, most shocked, one angry, two crying - and he’s on the ground, still next to Sæunn, who is whining and screaming just as much as Kina is crying and Sol’alore is desperately yelling Jasculs’ name and asking what’s going on.

The three other people don’t say anything - a vastly familiar Sin’dorei and a Mulgore Tauren, along with Mo’hir. Not until Mo’hir speaks, though it sounds distant, she’s not moving her mouth or even her body - which is placed in a meditating position, Jasculs suddenly notices - and he is obviously the only one who can hear her. Her voice is carried by the singing, yet she is not the one singing.

“Go a move on, mon. Da tree needs ya,” she urges, and Jasculs immediately knows what she means.

Somehow, in his state, he gets up- and before he knows it, Jasculs is in the air, wings beating strongly and giving off a green tint. They carry him a long way with each beat, and he doesn’t tire at all, despite the old injury at the base of his left wing. His heart clenching at the sight of smoke flowing out of the world tree like heavy, dirty rivers that go up into the sky is _more_ than enough motivation.

Jasculs doesn’t stop before he has flown through the pink portal -  which is more red than pink and purple as it usually is - outside of Teldrassil and into Darnassus.

A branch falls into the lake and sends a wave of burning hot water over Jasculs. He makes a run for the bridge, and he almost makes it. His tail and heel get burned, but nothing else, and it’s better than anything he had imagined. Rushing into a gigantic, burning tree just to be flooded and killed by scalding water… wouldn’t that have been ironic?

Jasculs takes a look around. Everything is on fire; houses, plants, people, animals, clothes, all of it. There’s a desperate, frantic, angry, horrified, and so many other kinds of screaming Jasculs cannot name. His whole body shakes at the sight, thoughts of anxiety, of destruction and death and people he knows fill his mind, and his imagination kicks in. Nythlora’s dead body, burned beyond recognition, Nali’s shop crushed and her in it, J’aaris pierced by a fallen branch, and oh Light _Malassarian-_

Lunging himself forward and into the air to stop his mind before it gets way too far, Jasculs heads towards Malassarian and J’aaris’ home. On the way, he leads a group of stranded Kaldorei to safety, lifts a fallen tree so a family of Draenei can get out and away, and cools several people down with beats of his wings.

When Jasculs gets the, his heart is in his throat, and the sight of the house’s state does _not_ help. It has been crushed by a gigantic branch, and the image of J’aaris speared once again crosses his mind.

With shaking arms and legs, Jasculs pushes down doors and walls to look through every room. There’s nobody or their remains there, and Jasculs lets himself breathe a sigh of relief.

This time, when he spreads his wings, he gets lightheaded. His heartbeat is racing and so is his pulse, too fast to properly let his body consume the oxygen in his blood. Even then, with the amount of smoke in the air and how quickly he is breathing, it may as well be for the best.

Jasculs ventures deeper into Teldrassil, to the edge of Darnassus, where he knows Nali’s blacksmith is. His vision is distorted and everything looks oddly small, but he manages, despite the loss of orientation and sense of direction. It is not helped by the fact he cannot see anything; Jasculs has had to land from overly shaky and uncontrollable wings and is now running down the streets. The smoke is thinner down here, but seeing things from above gave him a nice sense of control, a feeling he has now completely lost. He’s running around, completely having forgotten which way is what, and at one point he runs around in circles. Something in the back of his mind thanks Elune no living soul is here to see him like this.

Running down a street littered with fallen, burning branches, every house on each side in an inferno, Jasculs hears a voice yell in anger. The voice curses and spits and growls, and it feels familiar from a distant time and place.

Following the voice leads him to the remains of a house. It’s one of the more whole houses, he has to admit; the far wall is still intact, and so is most of the staircase and floor. The roof and closest wall to him, however, have fallen, and beneath the ruins lie a Draenei with the wildest curly hair able to still look soft.

Jasculs recognizes her immediately and doesn’t say anything before walking over and lifting up the remains of what he thinks what was once her roof. She glances up at him momentarily before crawling out, although rather slowly. He doesn’t blame her though; it must really be difficult crawling when you are missing most of your left leg. Mindlessly, he scratches his left leg, as if to make sure it’s still there. Then, he helps the Draenei up.

“How many times are you gonna save my ass, Mateth?” she comments unhappily, something almost like a pout on her face. A small smile is brought to his lips and eyes at that, and, for the first time since he entered Darnassus, his ears twitch in that weirdly happy-proud way they tend to do.

“As many times as you and the world will let me, Nali. I don’t mind securing your safety… that was an awkward sentence,” he replies.

“ _You’re_ awkward.”

Jasculs can only snort before he crouches down to let Nali know he will be picking her up. Grumbling and sighing overdramatically, she lets him. She immediately lets out several harsh coughs when he stands back up, and Jasculs, too, lets out a cough of his own. They have to hurry.

Starting back towards the portal on foot, Nali’s arm locked around his neck, Jasculs’ mind starts racing again. Branches are falling quicker and the fire is even more intense than before. Just within the first street, he has to dodge four branches.

“Hold tight,” he warns Nali before taking off into the smoking air above the buildings.

Within seconds, Jasculs can see the portal. He informs Nali of this, though she only gives a grunt in return. He attempts to swallow a lump at that but continues to fly.  
  
A shadow suddenly darkens the ground beneath and around them, and Jasculs knows a big- a very, _very_ big branch is above them. He darts to the side, and the branch brushes past them, and Jasculs feels relief soothing his muscles. Then, a crushing sound of a bridge giving way and the _boom!_ of a spell being disrupted by unnatural causes.

Jasculs feels like the bridge. Crushed and without hope. The branch lay there, pieces of the structure that used to hold up the portal beneath it, and his breath hitches and he coughs and he’s shaking and oh Elune what should he do, what _can_ he do, _someone help him_ -

Nali groans in question, mumbling something about Jasculs’ heart. For a moment, Jasculs freezes, and they hover to the ground.

His heart is racing, adrenaline pumping, and Nali feels like nothing at all in his arms. She even _looks_ smaller. Even smaller than his full metamorphosis usually makes her, which still is more than enough to make her grumpy. Not that she already isn’t grumpy all the time, but grumpy at _him_.

Distant voices come to Jasculs’ attention, and he perks his head up from looking at Nali. There, in front of the end of the fallen branch, stands J’aaris with Malassarian hunched over his shoulder. Again, Jasculs’ breathing hitches and heart picks up the pace.

“J’a… J’aaris!” Jasculs yells, voice hoarse and desperate. The terror and anxiety in his voice make even the inferno itself pale in strength.

As Jasculs runs towards them, Nali perked up on one arm, J’aaris turns around. The Lightforged Draenei’s eyes widen in shock, then wonder, then relief, then horror. Then, something akin to accept crosses his face.

“No, we’re not dying in here. If anyone’s dying, it’s gonna be outside, with our families, so they can say their fucking _goodbyes_ ,” Jasculs hisses without a second thought.

“But how?” questions J’aaris.

Jasculs eyes the remains of the portal.

“The hippogryphs flew out of Teldrassil somehow, and it was not through the portal,” he informs, voice wavering but sure. Not confident, but sure that there is another way, that they will find it, and that he _will_ get them out.

However, J’aaris shakes his head. “Mal can’t walk, and neither can she. You may be big and strong, but… I just- what are you doing?”

Jasculs is moving to put Nali down. Blowing her in the face, she instantly opens her eyes, and he sets her on the ground. She looks confusedly at Jasculs, then as J’aaris, then Malassarian, and then back to Jasculs.

“J’aaris, get onto my back. You can sit between the spikes and use them to hold on. When you’re up, help Nali get up there, too. She’s tried it before and I’m positive she can hold on. I’ll carry Mal- and, yes, I will carry him with utmost carefulness. _I promise_ ,” Jasculs explains quickly with coughs between a couple of words.

J’aaris nods and does as instructed, while Jasculs lays Malassarian in his arms. Severely broken leg, slow heart, and pulse, smoke intoxication-

Jasculs clenches his eyes shut.

 _Shut_ **_up._ ** _No time for death imaginations now_.

Once J’aaris and Nali confirm they are ready, Jasculs immediately takes off. He flies across the branch, heading for the direction he knows the hippogryph route is and-

There’s a squak, and Jasculs looks down. There, by the edge of the portal island, a hippogryph is trotting around, making whatever noises it can muster. It’s wearing sentinel armor, and Jasculs figures its rider must have died and it had no idea what to do or where to go, and now everything is chaos so it’s panicking.

Jasculs flies over to it, shifting Malassarian, who grunts, carefully as he does so, and lays a hand on the hippogryph. It immediately looks up and into where Jasculs’ eyes are beneath the ashen blindfold with wild eyes. As it looks, it seems to calm down, though.

“Can you show us the way out?” asks Jasculs, as if he is talking to another Kaldorei.

The hippogryph takes off and flies across the boiling lake, across buildings and branches and scorching fire, and Jasculs follow. Until they reach a part of the inner bark, and the animal squaks unhappily.

“Here?”

The hippogryph squaks again, as if it’s answering. Jasculs takes it as a yes and spits at the trunk, which immediately begins to seeth beneath his spit. Then, huge fel flames are fired from his eyes, burning through the trunk before causing an explosion. Jasculs blows away the smoke, revealing a clear pathway, big enough to fit them. As they fly through, Jasculs momentarily think how odd it is he felt like he was filling out the entire pathway, yet the hippogryph barely filled any space at all, but he pays no attention to it. He can’t, not as fresh air rushes across his face and he has to breathe it in, and he does, and it feels _amazing_ , and he hears both Draenei on his back do the same. Even Malassarian, who is still very much passed out, seems to relax.

Not realizing he had closed his eyes while inhaling, Jasculs opens them and looks across the sea. The shore, what used to be Lor’danel, is gone. Burned to nothing but ashes. Jasculs isn’t really surprised, he did see some of it when he came to the tree, after all, but it still hurts. It still makes him huff in anger and his heart speed up.

The hippogryph squaks questioning.

“I don’t know,” Jasculs immediately replies, as if he understood what the animal said, “But I think the safest bet would be heading for a neutral city. What’s it called, Gadgetzhan? No, no, that’s in Tanaris… Ratchet!”

The hippogryph seems to recognize the name and begins flying in on direction, then another. It can’t fly its usual route, with Darkshore taken over like this, so, instead, it sticks to the ocean.

Only a minute or two of silence pass by before Nali yells in warning and tucks on Jasculs’ right horn, a sign that “means look to the right!”. He does so and immediately panics.

Jasculs rolls over, throwing both J’aaris and Nali off of him, dropping them into the ocean. He yells something even he himself doesn’t understand at the hippogryph before throwing Malassarian to it. It catches him, squaks in concern and something that, to Jasculs, feels like promise, and flies away.

That’s all he sees before the flaming catapult boulder smashes into him and everything instantly goes black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH THAT WAS A TRIP WASNT IT
> 
> i havent gone in-depth with grammar and spelling mistakes so sorry 'bout that. also sorry about that ending but, hey, im so not-satisfied-whatsoever myself i want to write a follow up of some kind lmaO
> 
> anyways you can find more of me and my idiots here: https://warcraftingfox.tumblr.com/


	2. Step Backs and Set Backs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rough but healing in the long run. still, trigger warnings: panic, anxiety, depression vibes, self-hatred, mentions of voices in jasculs' mind, physical pain - especially in the torso, claustrophobia/not being able to move, loss of senses, a lot of crying, PTSD involvement though it's not directly stated as such, uuuh i think thats everything

Darkness coats his vision like a slightly see-through blanket, as if someone has taken the entirety of the world’s colors and dulled and darkened them. Even then, Jasculs’ sight is the only thing providing him with any sort of context to his whereabouts; feeling is utterly and completely gone from his body; his nose is filled with the smell of burned flesh; nothing but the taste of blood and his thick, thick, acid-y, green spit in his mouth; a deafeningly loud buzzing of thousands of voices inside his head. Jasculs isn’t sure the voices are his thoughts or if they belong to other people. All he knows is they’re loud and he can’t make out any of what they’re saying. If they’re saying anything at all, that is, and aren’t just humming, buzzing, yelling, _screaming_.

Jasculs’ head luls to the side, his breathing heavy with the trouble of expanding his chest. If he could hear how rigid and shaky his breathing is, Jasculs would be extremely concerned. But, alas, he cannot even feel the pain clutching and clawing at his chest and back.

A silhouette gently turns his head so Jasculs is yet again looking up into a sea of dark green. Except this time, a silhouette of deep, dark purples, greens, and a color so dark it looks black breaks up the greens.

The silhouette holds his head in place with one hand while the other brings something equally dark into his vision. As they place something by what Jasculs assumes is his mouth, Jasculs attempts to squirm. Nothing happens. He tries again, dread slowly creeping through every one of his nerves. Not a single hair on his body moves, and, as the silhouette tilts whatever it is they are holding and washing something down his throat, Jasculs inwardly _screams_. Not even the voices in his head are loud enough to drown out his own panicking, screaming thoughts. He’s not in control, he can’t move, and someone is doing something to him and he can’t do any-fucking-thing about it, and _someone please help him_ , oh Elune, save him, save him, he needs to _move_ but he _can’t_ , there’s nothing he can do, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, he’s _trapped,_ and- 

Oh Titans. Oh for the love of Elune,  _ Kina and Sol’alore.  _ Jasculs will never be able to see them again. They’ll never know what happened to him. He’s going to leave this planet, he’s going to  _ die _ , and they’ll never even know. To them, Jasculs will suddenly just be gone without a word, left with a gryphon that definitely will never be able to fly again and a ring as the only reminders of him.

Ring. Ring, ring, ring, that  _ ring _ . It suddenly feels like a boulder is resting on his right hand’s ring finger, and scenarios suddenly flood Jasculs’ mind. How wonderful he imagines their wedding to be, somewhere on a mountain peak in Stormheim. Kissing Sol’alore as they’re pronounced husbands by Malassarian. Svala and Sæunn picking up Jasculs and Sol’alore in a surprise hug. Khadgar and Kina helping each other making magical fireworks. Felnose accidentally setting a tree on fire by sneezing _.  _ Andiais and Phene purposely pushing Jasculs into Sol’alore so they fall on top of each other and then showering them in flowers.

Jasculs emits a choked sob. He can hear just the edges of it and feel how it leaves a lump in his throat. That surprises him, but there is no room for the feeling in his aching chest.

By a force that is not his own, Jasculs’ body moves. His upper body is lifted from the ground and lain upon something soft yet sturdy. He whimpers in protest, breath hitching, and heartbeat speeding up even more. It hurts how fast his heart is pounding and how badly he’s hyperventilating, and Jasculs is happy he can’t feel the full force of it.

A gentle pressure rubs itself into his scalp, and Jasculs feels his panic spike. His whole body jerks with the force of it and, for a moment, he can’t breathe at all. His mind reels and spirals, thinking the same things over and over and over, making Jasculs’ fear continuously increase, and, suddenly, he’s standing, the silhouette speaking to him in what he thinks is meant to be a calming voice. Jasculs shrieks and wails as he takes a step backwards, body twisting to turn around and run, run,  _ run _ .

Hot, searing pain fills his entire body, digging into his back, hands, feet, and chest as if something is trying to crush his them. Pain shoots to his head, blinding and numbing him all over again. He’s on the ground, lying in the arms of the silhouette - who he now can see has hair so blue it could easily be mistaken as the ocean, and skin a soft, pale purple, almost like a winter grape, and his heart twists and churns in his already burning chest - and they’re speaking to him, but he can’t make out their words, because the voices in his head are back, and they’re screaming, screaming and tearing at his mind to give in and let them go, and Jasculs doesn’t understand anything, he just wants the pain to stop.

A soft, green light creeps into his dotted and blurry vision, and an unexplainable calm rushes over him. It digs into the pain, beats it, chases it away, chases it back into the depth of Jasculs’ body. Then, the calm energy rests there, on top of the pain, nullifying it, and Jasculs can breathe again, see and hear and feel again. Even the taste of blood and spit is gone, replaced by fruits and berries. His favorite ones, even.

Then, something else soft fills the air. A humming, coming from just behind him, and Jasculs can’t help looking back. The silhouette who isn’t a silhouette anymore but rather a Kaldorei much,  _ much  _ smaller than him with hair in braids and in a bun, brown fur and green leather covering their body from neck and down.

Around their neck hangs a moonstone pendant in the form of strawberry, the symbol of the druids engraved in it. Despite the missing chunk at the bottom of it, the pendant still glows brightly and radiates a familiar kind of power. The sight of it makes Jasculs choke, and, had it not been for the flow of calming energy inside of him keeping his body and mind still with exhaustion, he would have reached out and touched the Kaldorei’s cheek. His arm  _ does  _ move, but only up to his own head before it falls weakly into his lap. 

As his body gets more and more tired by the second, Jasculs can no longer hold up his own head to look at the Kaldorei that reminds him a so painfully lot of his mother. His head falls down, jaw and chin touching his shoulder.

Through half-lidded eyes, Jasculs lazily glances down at his own body, mind immediately being filled with wonder and the slightest edge of fear. He’s not the usual purple-ish gray, but rather a vibrant green with dots of purple. The tattoos on his chest and arms are a screaming, nightmare red, much like the spots on his orange wings.

“Don’t worry, pumpkin, it’s going to be alright. You’re alright,” whispers the Kaldorei in his ear, and Jasculs chokes out a small sob because only his mother calls him that, and only his mother’s voice can sound that soft and reassuring.

His eyes fall shut, and he dreams of his childhood.

 

***

 

Pain forces Jasculs to awaken. Not the physical kind, no, though it is certainly present, clutching at the bones of his ribcage and the skin between his wings. It seethes and burns worse than fel from the strongest demon, and yet it’s nothing compared to the pain tearing at his mind and heart.

Green-scaled hands are brought up to cover his eyes as he sobs, mind repeating the images from his dreams again and again and again, until Jasculs is dizzy, curled up in a ball, wailing, and too in pieces to pay attention to his thoughts.

Something moves right next to him, and Jasculs immediately clamps his mouth shut. As he feels whatever it is move against the surface of his back, he covers his mouth with his clawed hands, and his wide eyes stare ahead. Jasculs is already shaking with the force of his crying; the fear of not knowing what this is and what it’s doing only makes him shake harder. When he realizes such, fears grips even harder at him, because what if the being is dangerous and his shaking makes it aware of his presence? Will it kill him? Will it rip him away from this world and leave Sol’alore and Kina alone? Will it rip him away from this life without Jasculs even finding out what happened to J’aaris, Nali, and Malassarian or why everything about the Kaldorei screams Jasculs’ mother?

_ Not that this life is worth much _ , adds his mind dullily. 

As the head of a green dragon comes into his sight, Jasculs holds his breath. The dragon observes him with an evident worry in their face yet still silently, eyes scanning his face. 

The dragon’s scales are emerald colored, and their eyes are a sharp, silver blue. Pale orange horns adorn the top of their head, nose, and jawline. Why would such a magnificent creature be worried about him? 

“Bad dream?” they ask. Jasculs is so taken aback by the genuine concern in their voice it takes several seconds before he can reply. Something else nags at the back of his mind, too, but he can’t quite make sense of it. 

“Uh, I- uh.” Is all he manages to get out before deciding a nod will do. The dragon nods, too, before gently placing their forehead against Jasculs’. Having expected dragons to be bigger up close - Sol’alore certainly is - Jasculs doesn’t even feel intimidated. He only feels amazed as he can feel the cool of their scales against his own, their Nature magic pulsing heavily beneath their skin. The sensation calms him, and he breathes out a relaxed sigh and closes his eyes. 

Humming in content, something slips past his lips that immediately makes his eyes fly open, wide in fear, as dread settles in his stomach once again. “Who are you?” 

Not seeming the slightest bit affected, the dragon before him merely gives a soft smile. A smile that seems so achingly familiar, which Jasculs immediately dismisses as his imagination because that is simply impossible. He has never met this particular dragon before. The glimmer of their own eyes on their scales would never slip from his memory. 

“Werythra.” Despite it not seeming possible, Jasculs’ eyes widen even more.  _ My mom isn’t the only one with that name,  _ he tells himself in an attempt to calm himself down. It doesn’t work. 

“Werythra Dawndream,” the dragon repeats, this time with her surname, and Jasculs feels like his entire world stops. His mind goes entirely and utterly blank in disbelief, and for a minute he fears his heart will stop working, just like his voice has. There’s so many things he wants to say, wants to ask, because, no, this cannot be happening, this is  _ impossible _ , his mother has been dead for  _ thousands of years _ . Thankfully, she beats him to speaking. 

“I… I know you believe me to be dead,” she begins slowly, head turning to look at the ground instead of Jasculs. ”and it  _ is  _ true I was gravely injured. Hibernating in the Emerald Dream for many, many years was the only thing that saved me. Ever since I got out, I’ve been looking for you and your sisters.” Werythra shakes her mighty head before curling tighter around Jasculs - and first then does he realise he is curled into a ball and nestled against Werythra’s stomach and chest. He feels his throat bobble as grief crawls up his throat, and he lets out a half choked, desperate cry. 

For a while, they lay like that; Jasculs curled up against his mother, desperately holding onto her with both hands and feet, and Werythra curled around him tightly, head resting upon his shoulder. When that painfully familiar wave of calm once again slowly fills him, Jasculs has no doubt that this dragon is indeed his mother. Because as a kid, when his nights were difficult, this feeling was what always calmed him down and made him fall asleep. The feeling always came from her mother and her gentle strokes of his hair and sweet smiles, and now Jasculs remembers. 

“I will tell you the details when you’re better. For now, sleep, pumpkin. You need it.” Jasculs hears Werythra whisper in his ear before he falls back into the darkness of his mind. 

 

***

 

The reality and weight of Malassarian’s death doesn’t hit Jasculs until he finally fully regains consciousness almost three days later. He has awoken in hazes and blurs, his mother making him eat and drink whenever he did, but all of these times seem like nothing but fragments of dreams to Jasculs. As he feels right now, Jasculs much rather wants that back than  _ this _ .

_ “ _ This” being sitting on his knees in front of Malassarian’s corpse, hands clutching his thighs painfully tight. Jasculs’ head is lowered, blindfold long abandoned as tears are hurled out of him along with his cries and sobs. 

Despite Malassarian being covered by a sheet of leather, Jasculs can’t even glance at him without crying harder. J’aaris, too, has that effect on him; J’aaris and Malassarian are - well, were - married. Looking at him makes Jasculs’ heart swell and clench and fly into his throat, making his mind wheel and spin and go into a void he has done  _ so well  _ to avoid for  _ so long _ . And then Jasculs cries, of guilt and sorrow and disappointment in himself for letting Malassarian die like this and for letting himself fall back down the rabbit hole. 

Someone sits down next to him. Jasculs doesn’t look who it is nor does he say anything. Whoever they are don’t either. They do, however, put their hand on his upper back and rub circles into it.

“J’aaris is back from hunting, pumpkin,” says Werythra next to him. Jasculs looks up at her with teary eyes and nods before standing. They’re both in their Kaldorei disguise, so trailing behind his mother doesn’t look weird at all to any unknowing souls.

As they walk, Jasculs doesn’t raise his head at any point. Not even when they stop in front of three hooves and a pirate-styled tree leg, either.

Werythra asks him to get a fire going and think up a good meal with the meat, fruits, and vegetables J’aaris came back with. There are herbs in her pouch, she says as she hands him said pouch. Of course, only if it’s within his mental capacity to do it, she she says, too.

Jasculs doesn’t hesitate to get cooking. As he works, Nali sits by the fire, frequently shifting between watching the fire and Jasculs. He doesn’t mind.

“It’s not your fault,” Nali suddenly says, and Jasculs freezes mid-chopping some of the vegetables - including some onions - and herbs into fine, paper-thin pieces. As his heart speeds up and his mind begins to wheel, Jasculs wants to answer. He wants to answer  _ so badly,  _ wants to ask how it can possibly  _ not  _ be his fault, but he doesn’t. His throat has clogged up and he can’t speak.

Resuming to chop the vegetables, Jasculs stays quiet. His eyes are teary and he tells himself he’ll blame it on the onions if anyone asks. The hippogryph - who Jasculs has named Thyridrunn - squaks unhappily, but nobody asks.

While they’re eating, Werythra announces they’re all healed and healthy and can now get moving. Well, enough to, that is; Jasculs’ chest and back are still screaming, though his hands and feet are nothing but dull aches anymore. Sometimes, he forgets they’re burned all together.

J’aaris and Nali want to get to Stormwind. Most of the Teldrassil refugees were evacuated to Stormwind, so they may be able to reunite with any friends and family-members there.

_ If any of them are alive, that is.  _ Jasculs closes his eyes and, under his breath, tells his mind to shut up.

On the other hand, Jasculs wants to go to Durotar. As far as he remembers, that’s where Zatna lives. During the time Jasculs has spent recovering, he has realized Zatna had several times rambled about her best friend, Mo’hir; the same troll that shot him and Sæunn down. Even if there’s several trolls with the name Mo’hir, Jasculs is sure the familiar Sin’dorei bent over him from days before was Zatna. Knowing her, she wouldn’t allow her best friend to leave Sæunn, Sol’alore, and Kinagosa out in the middle of nowhere. 

They all agree to going to Stormwind first by teleporting to Dalaran and then taking the Dalaran portal to Stormwind. From there, Jasculs and Werythra will take the portal to mount Hyjal and from there the portal to Orgrimmar.

They all stand and move to pack down camp. When Jasculs moves to stand, too, his mother lays a hand on his shoulder, pressing down on it with a rather high amount of pressure. None of them have to say anything to get the point across; he’s still too injured and weak, weak,  _ weak _ , to do anything but cooking and existing. He’d probably just fuck something up trying to help, anyways.

As he sits back down, Werythra walks away; over to the makeshift nest she had build for the two of them. Watching as his mother trashes what they had used as a bed the last however many days, Jasculs idly fiddles with his pouch. Miraculously, he didn’t lose it when he was shot down, and he’s so,  _ so  _ glad for that.

Jasculs loosens the pouch, opens it, and looks inside. Not much is in there; an empty ring box, a coin, a hearthstone, and his Dalaran stone. 

Upon spotting the ring box, Jasculs’ eyes automatically flicker towards the ring finger on his right hand. Suddenly, something is squishing his throat and clenching his heart because what if he had died? Him and Sol’alore have been fiancés for what seems like an eternity now, Jasculs can’t leave this world without them actually getting married first. He can’t do that to Sol’alore.

Shaking his head to repel as many thoughts of Sol’alore and Kina alone in their home in Booty Bay, all lights turned off, Jasculs reaches for the coin in his pouch. It’s a Kirin Tor coin, one of those Khadgar lost on the Broken Shore. Touching it still makes Jasculs’ outline sparkle and shiver with color. 

The tiniest of smiles plays at his lips as he looks down at the coin in longing. Their effect always made him laugh, but mostly because their  _ Khadgar’s _ .

_ Khadgar… _

As Jasculs’ thoughts drift towards the Archmage, his not-really-that-old-crush, his  _ friend _ , Jasculs’ finger begin fiddling with the coin. Running across its edge, flipping it repeatedly, running it across the back of his hands, knuckles, and palms, and mindlessly attempting self-taught coin-tricks. Sometimes they work, sometimes they don’t. Jasculs doesn’t notice any of it.

He wonders if Khadgar is okay, how he’s doing. Being in Karazhan all day, studying how to save Azeroth, certainly must become dreadfully boring in the long run.

A deep frown beats down any other expression on Jasculs’ face at his next thought. Does anyone visit Khadgar? He said he’d go there alone, didn’t he? Or does Jasculs just remember it wrong? What if Khadgar hasn’t had any visitors at all since he announced his leave for Karazhan? Elune, Khadgar must be  _ incredibly  _ lonely.

From there on, Jasculs’ thoughts only get worse. Loneliness does things to a person, Jasculs knows that, and now he’s utterly  _ terrified  _ for Khadgar’s well-being. A boulder has settled itself inside his stomach, dread clawing and gnawing roughly at his heart, and Jasculs holds the coin so tightly in his fist it hurts.

He’d have to visit Khadgar as soon as possible.

A hand on his shoulder makes Jasculs shriek and jolt to a standing position. Suddenly, he’s aware of the death-grip he has on the coin and releases it, letting it drop back down into his pouch.

It’s Werythra. She tells him they’re all ready and set. He nods and kneels down to pick his pouch back up.

Digging around in the pouch for his Dalaran hearthstone, thousands upon thousands of thoughts run through his head. He hasn’t been back in Dalaran for a long time, even during his, Kinagosa and Sol’alore’s travels. Of course, he has been there with them, but it still feels like such a long time ago. Even then, their stays in the city were never for long, as it always makes Jasculs uneasy. Despite his heart already being heavy with loss, worry, and guilt, he can feel the same uneasy concern of being noticed and recognised in Dalaran resurface. 

His fingers touch the cold surface of the stone and, finally, Jasculs pulls it out of the pouch. With no words, he holds it out in a stretched arm, palm and stone facing upwards. Werythra, J’aaris, and, riding Thyridrunn, Nali, all come closer and place one of their own hands on Jasculs’ and the stone. 

“Ready?” he croaks. They all nod, and Jasculs activates it, a blue light growing brighter and brighter from it.

With a flash, they’re at the entrance to Dalaran from Krasus’ Landing. Immediately, they begin walking towards Greymane’s Encrest, where they take the portal to Stormwind. By that time, Jasculs is looking down at his toes as he walks.

He sees the floor of the mage tower beneath his bare feet, but he does not react. Neither does Jasculs react when his mother walks off to ask the nearest mage where the Teldrassil refugees must go. They’re directed towards the Stormwind Embassy and the docks, the mage also informing them that inns are flooded and there are “Have you seen this person?” request boards by the embassy and docks, too.

They go to the embassy because it’s closest. Before they even get the chance to tell her goodbye, Nali heads for the board. So, instead, Jasculs turns to J’aaris.

“Take care,” murmurs Jasculs in a low voice, “Both of yourself and Nali. And, when-”  _ If. _ “-you see Nythlora again, tell her I’m sorry and that I love her.” 

At first, Jasculs still doesn’t look at J’aaris. However, as he speaks, Jasculs’ mind increasingly begin to scream at him that’s he’s being a bad person, that J’aaris will think Jasculs no longer likes him, and he will think Jasculs only pities him for his loss. So, Jasculs raises his head, looking upon J’aaris with tired and griefing eyes, and forces a small smile.

Stepping forward, J’aaris pulls Jasculs into a hug, and Jasculs simply freezes in disbelief. He doesn’t deserve that, why is J’aaris hugging him,  _ I don’t deserve your kindness, J’aaris. I killed your husband, why don’t you hate me? You should hate me, that’s all I deserve, not this kindness- _

“You’re a good man, Jasculs. No matter what anyone’s political opinion on you is, or what you have been. Who you are right here, right now, is a good man. Don’t let that go,” J’aaris says in a hushed tone full of emotions. Their height difference is not terribly big, merely an inch or two, so it feels like J’aaris is speaking directly into Jasculs’ ear.

Ducking his head down and closing his eyes, Jasculs hesitantly brings up his arms to hug J’aaris back. He doesn’t feel right doing it, feeling as though he does not deserve this, and therefore stays quiet.

When they let go, which isn’t long after J’aaris initiated the hug, J’aaris claps Jasculs on the shoulder before going towards the embassy. Jasculs doesn’t look up, simply missing the warmth and comfort of another body, to which he immediately tells himself he’s selfish and wrong and should feel guilty for even wanting that.

Without him even noticing, Jasculs’ legs begin moving, and a few seconds later he stands behind Nali. Two pieces of paper are in her hands, and Jasculs guesses they’re of people she has to find. 

His heart twists. 

“So. Uh.” Jasculs has barely opened his mouth when he realizes he has no idea what to say. So, when Nali looks up at him and blinks, he gives a I-have-no-idea-what-to-say-awkward smile, to which she rolls her eyes. Something a brave person would dare to call a smile graces her lips before she punches him rather harshly on the shoulder.

“That’s for being an idiot,” Nali says as Jasculs winces, rubbing his shoulder.

With two determined strides, she’s up in his face. Shrieking, he attempts to take a tumbling step back with comically wide eyes. However, Nali holds onto him and doesn’t let him move backwards even an inch. Her grip is rough, a tell-tale sign she will not let go of him until she’s done. Jasculs swallows.

Nali moves closer, and Jasculs clenches his eyes shut as his heart flies into his throat and his mind spirals around the same general thought:  _ Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me- _

A soft pressure of warm, dry skin presses against his cheek, and Jasculs’ eyes fly back open. Despite his whole body feeling much too warm, his face and ears practically feeling like they’re on fire, Jasculs freezes on the spot.

“That’s for being a moron with one of the kindest hearts I’ve ever met,” Nali adds, voice bleeding with seriousness. Her face is just as serious, but, beneath that, is a genuine kindness Jasculs has never, ever seen on her face. Even back on Argus when  _ it _ happened- even then her face wasn’t this grateful and kind.

It makes his already racing heart stutter.

As if on cue, Nali rolls her eyes and waves a hand dismissively in the air. Her voice is sharp when she speaks, and Jasculs only knows she’s joking because he’s known her for quite a while. “ _ Yes _ , I just kissed your cheek, dumbass. Get over it, you big pissbaby.”

_ But is she really, though? I mean, she’s not wrong,  _ his mind pipes in oh so helpfully. 

Jasculs’ eyes are teary when he pulls Nali into a tight hug. He can feel her arms wrap around him as best as his wings allow them to, which is almost entirely around him if you try hard enough. Which, much to Jasculs’ surprise, Nali does. She’s not a hugger and has never returned any of his hugs with anything much more than a light hold of his sides. Now, her hold on him is almost tighter than Jasculs’. It only makes him tear up more and he croaks out a choked laugh.

When they let go of each other, Jasculs doesn’t bother drying his eyes. They hurt, and they’re wet, and so is his entire face, but it has been so most of the time he’s spent awake the last couple of days. So, he simply feels something burst in his chest as he watches Nali dry her own eyes with something akin to a snort before she looks at him. Her face immediately paints over with disapproval, and she brings up her hands to, roughly, dry off his face. When she mumbles “fucking moron” under her breath, Jasculs can’t help but chuckle.

“Yep, that’s me,” he replies, tone light and voice hoarse.

Nali glares at him. “Shut your fel-firing shitty ass.”

That’s all it takes for Jasculs to break out in a fit of laughter. Laughter bubbles through him and up his throat so violently he has to bend over and support himself with a grip on his knees. Fresh tears spring from the corners of his clenched shut eyes, and Nali grumbles loudly.

“I am  _ not  _ drying your face again.”

Before he can answer, Jasculs has to gulp in a couple of big breathes. Even then, his words come out in a tumbled mess. “I d-don’t expe- _ wheeze _ -ct you t-to.”

When Jasculs stands back up fully, he dries his eyes with the back of his hand. Nali is glaring at him, her facial expression giving off a clear shine of “why do you do this to me”. 

Shaking her head with a snort, Nali claps Jasculs’ shoulder.

“Take care of yourself, oaf,” she tells him pointedly, giving his shoulder a slight shake. Her eyes and tone are so serious it feels like they’re stabbing him, despite the rare, friendly smile on her lips.

“You too,” he croaks back.

Nali nods and claps his shoulder one last time before turning around and walking off. To find the people on the paper-slips, Jasculs assumes, as Jasculs stands there and looks after her. Slowly, a tear trickles down his cheek. 

A hand places itself gently between his shoulder-blades and he winces at the sudden spike in pain. The hand retracts as he does so, though it doesn’t retreat fully. It stays just above Jasculs’ burned flesh, enough distance to let air between the two surfaces, yet he can still feel its presence.

Nothing is said for a while as Jasculs looks after a friend long-gone, his mother’s hand hovering just above his back. 

Werythra sighs. “We should get going, pumpkin.”

With a nod, Jasculs lowers his head and turns around. Thyridrunn is immediately there, rubbing his head against Jasculs, and chirping happily. However, his wings and tail twitch, and Jasculs knows Thyridrunn isn’t actually this happy. He’s only trying to cheer him up, and that makes Jasculs tearful all over again.

Watching his mother transform from Kaldorei to a majestic, warden-type owl, Jasculs furrows his brows. How Werythra can be a dragon and still freely control which form she is in as a druid is beyond him. Though, he supposes it’s the same with him and his metamorphosis.

Jasculs mounts Thyridrunn and they take off towards the island in the lake housing a good majority of Stormwind’s portals.

 

***

 

It takes Werythra and Jasculs surprisingly long to find exactly where Zatna lives. Despite her profession as a well-known bounty hunter, few seems to know where she actually lives. Though, Jasculs supposes that’s a part of the bounty hunting business; when you make a name for yourself, you don’t want any of your rivals to know where you live, in case they try anything.

So, when they ask around in Orgrimmar where Zatna Mirthheart lives, most react with a tilt of their head, shrug, or “Silvermoon?”. Even when neither of them mention Zatna is a Sin’dorei some suggest Silvermoon. Jasculs doesn’t get it. 

It’s not until Werythra and Jasculs find themselves leaning against the outer walls of a bar, talking about what to do now, that they find someone who can show them the way. 

A Sin’dorei with pale, pale, pale blonde hair -  _ Orian blonde hair  _ \- and bare legs stumbles out of the bar, doors clattering shut behind them and cutting the inside noise off yet again. They raise their beer to them, says cheers, and downs a good majority of its contents. It makes Jasculs grimace, though he isn’t aware it’s showing on his - Sin’dorei - face before Werythra nudges him and gives him a pointed look. Jasculs immediately ducks his head in shame.

“Ye lookin’ for Zatna Mirthheart ye said?” the Sin’dorei blurts out, surprising Jasculs so much he looks back up at them, both eyebrows almost at his hairline. “She- damned cousin of mine, too reckless for her own good-” They burp loudly, though doesn’t seem bothered and simply continues. “-lives down in Sen’Jin Village. Yeah. Sen’Jin Village. Flight master can send ye there.”

“Thank you. May the days and nights treat you well,” Werythra replies with a bow, her Tauren form still towering over the other Sin’dorei. If Jasculs wasn’t sitting on top of Thyridrunn’s back, she would easily be towering over him, too.

Jasculs spares them an extra glance. He didn’t know Zatna has a cousin. It’s a little suspicious to him, honestly, but he convinces himself he’s just being paranoid.

The walk to the flight master is quiet, and so is their flight to Sen’Jin Village. Werythra is flying on one of the flight master’s wyverns, while Jasculs is, obviously, flying on Thyridrunn. In truth, they don’t need the wyvern to fly, only to show them the way. Would be oddly hilarious and utterly and completely stupid if they went through all that trouble to find out where Zatna lives only to fly the wrong way.

If that drunk Sin’dorei even spoke the truth, that is. Them with their alcohol, slim and armored covered body yet bare legs, knee-high boots, daggers, and Orian blonde hair, it wouldn’t surprise Jasculs in the slightest if they were lying to mess with them. Orian certainly did that a lot. 

Shutting his eyes, Jasculs takes a deep, shaking breath. Then, he grumbles under his breath. “Don’t think about him.”

_ Too late,  _ he thinks bitterly, as memories of him and Orian messing around during training sessions slowly fill his mind. Orian, laughing at him as he miserably fails a throw or has gotten a stance all wrong. Orian, rolling his eyes with a shadow of a smile on his face. Orian, smirking at him from across the street as Jasculs not-so-subtly accidentally flirts with Khadgar. Orian obviously disapproving of his growing relationship with Sol’alore, but telling Jasculs he’s glad he’s finding happiness. Orian, scowling and grimacing because “everyone are doing everything  _ wrong _ ”. Orian, screaming at Jasculs’ face, banishing and exiling him from the Fel Hammer.

Traitor.

Orian swearing to hunt him down and make him pay for betraying them.

Traitor.

To make Jasculs pay for betraying his family,  _ their  _ family.

_ Traitor, I’m nothing but a filthy traitor, traitor, traitor- _

They land and Werythra thanks the wyvern with a few scratches, sweet words, and a gentle glow of Nature magic. Jasculs doesn’t know what she did, but it seems like it made the wyvern happy, so he isn’t going to question it.

Immediately, Werythra asks the nearest person - a Troll with bright pink hair and blue skin. Or is it fur? Jasculs doesn’t know - where Zatna lives, and they point them in the direction of a hut in the outer ring of the village. It looks newer than all the other huts and small houses in the village.

Before they’re even close to the hut, Jasculs can hear Sæunn screeching inside. At first, Jasculs feels alarmed, but it quickly becomes obvious to him that it’s a happy screeching. She must be able to smell him, he guesses.

The door of the hut opens, and out halts a gryphon. It’s a quick halt, as if it is trying its best to run, but can’t quite get enough speed due to its injuries - and Jasculs immediately knows she’s Sæunn and her flank wounds must have healed  _ miraculously  _ well for her to already even be up and walking. The sight makes Jasculs tear up  _ again _ , a proud and incredibly relieved smile spreading all over his face.

Jasculs drops to his knees, letting Sæunn halt into his embrace. She licks at his face, licking away tears, sweat, and snot. It makes Jasculs laugh, though his throat clogs up and the laugh turns into a pained sob. As he begins crying for who knows what time today, Jasculs hugs Sæunn as closely as he can without putting too much pressure on her wounds.

Distantly, Jasculs hears voices as he cries, but he doesn’t pay it any attention. Especially not when Sæunn ribs herself out of his arms and halts closer to Thyridrunn who’s standing next to Jasculs with wings and chest puffed out in a protective stance. Sæunn sniffs at him, and Thyridrunn sniffs at her, circling each other. Jasculs chuckles and pets both of them. They both lean into his touch and chirp happily. 

Then, Sæunn bumps Thyridrunn’s forehead with her own forehead. Thyridrunn looks confused for a moment, tilting his head, though ultimately seems to decide it was a good thing, so he gently bumps her back.

Another happy chirp from Sæunn, and then she stands and halts over to a Troll Jasculs hasn’t seen before. They’re certainly not Mo’hir, having hair as blue as the sea and fur the color of clear beach water. Thyridrunn stays by his side, though looks conflicted as his front leg moves forward, then back in resting position. Not to mention how he looks between Sæunn and Jasculs in a hasty motion. In all honesty, Jasculs finds it quite endearing as he chuckles in amusement and stands. To spare Thyridrunn the confusion, he walks over to the Troll, Sæunn and his mother.

Sæunn quirps loudly and nudges the Troll’s side. They don’t seem bothered at all, simply moving their hand to scratch Sæunn’s head, as they continue on with their conversation with Werythra. Although Sæunn not seeming entirely satisfied - Jasculs can tell by the way she nudges the Troll a second time - the scratching seems to be good enough, and Sæunn sits down next to the Troll. However, her eyes are directed at Jasculs, which makes him smile lightly.

Jasculs dries his face - again. Weak, weak,  _ weak _ \- and moves into his mother and the Troll’s space. He nods in greeting, not trusting his voice to be anything but a scratch record of his usual voice. The Troll shoots him a smile in return.

“Ya must be Jasculs. Sol an’ Kina be talkin’ about ya all de time. An’ Zatna be speaking of ya highly, too. Thanks for keepin’ dat moron of an elf safe,” the Troll begins, tone as light and shining as her smile. It calms Jasculs’ heart. “Anyway, I’m Keizi.”

“The third roommate,” Jasculs states.

“De third roommate,” Keizi confirms.

Jasculs sighs out, relief flooding him. At one point when him and Zatna took a break from fighting demons and other things, Zatna told him about her third roommate. She never told him her name, only that she’s obsessed with animals - specifically raptors, vultures, and scorpions, as far as he remembers - and runs a rescue and care center in Durotar. It makes him very happy to know Sæunn has been in good hands.

“Come. Sol and Kina be inside,” Keizi tells them as she turns around, motioning towards a part of the house. “Sadly, however, Mo’hir won’t be joining us.”

They walk after Keizi, and before Jasculs knows it Werythra’s hand is on his shoulder. Without really noticing, Jasculs steps closer to her, leaning into the comfort of the touch. Sæunn is next to him, bumping into Jasculs as she halts. Somehow, it comforts him, too, while making a lump form in his throat.

“Oh? How come?” Jasculs hears his mother ask.

“Been missing since dis mornin’. Said she had to get some fresh air. Don’t blame ‘er, da woman has been in her room for days.”

There’s a silence before Werythra speaks again. “Has she eaten?”

Vaguely, Jasculs can see Keizi shake her head, though it might as well be something he imagines. His head is lowered and Keizi’s head is barely at the edge of his vision. The edges are unfocused, have always been. 

“Nah. She been doing notin’ but meditatin’.”

Oh. So he didn’t imagine it. Not that Jasculs is surprised; he would feel guilty, too, if he was the reason someone can no longer walk, whether that someone be an animal or a person.

Actually, he probably has brought that upon someone. A Vrykul, maybe, or their enslaved dragons. Naga. Bloodtotem Highmountain Tauren. Drogbar. Animals and plants having been infected by the Nightmare. Satyr. Demons, too, of course. Countless, countless demons.

His own fellow soldiers.

_ Nali _ .

As guilt crashes into him in waves his vision blurs and white hot pain burns through his abdomen. It makes him gasp and choke; on air, tears, and snot. He wheezes and clenches his eyes shut - which he immediately regrets as images of Nali bleeding out with a crushed leg fills his vision. A leg he could have prevented being crushed had he just reacted quicker to Zatna being flung across the battlefield- and then his chest flares up with the same pain in his abdomen, except it’s straight in his lungs and heart and not in his flesh. It makes him gasp and choke and open his too wide eyes, and he feels his whole body shake and jolt violently.

Someone nudges his shoulder, then his chest. The feeling is faint and barely there, but Jasculs feels it and looks up. A concerned gryphon face meets him, and, judging by how her beak moves, Sæunn is calling for him. He can’t hear it, and panic settles in the pit of his stomach.

Next to Sæunn kneels Keizi, though Jasculs cannot make out any details of her face. She’s calmly running her hand across the length of Sæunn’s back, sometimes digging her fingers into specific spots and scratching there. 

His shoulder is nudged again, and he looks to the right. Thyridrunn is standing awfully close to him, his mother sitting on her knees behind him. Thyridrunn’s beak moves, too, and Jasculs can hear the faintest squak before Thyridrynn gently pecks his face. However, not gentle enough, as blood immediately begins trickling down Jasculs’ cheek.

Werythra places her huge hand on his bleeding cheek. As a gentle, green glow comes from her hand, Jasculs feels that odd, familiar calm slowly seep into his cheek, and he breathes out breath he didn’t know he was holding.

His hearing comes back in a rush. Everything is too loud and feels as though several people are stabbing him in the brain again and again at the same time. However, the pain is gone almost as quickly as it came as the calm energy fills his mind. It hunts away a good bit of the pain caused by his memories, too, though far from all of it.

Now Jasculs doesn’t really know what to do. He feels too empty to reach out or say anything, but he doesn’t want to seem like even more of an ungrateful dick than they already must consider him to be by just standing. So, he lingers, until his mother stands and extends a furred arm to pull him up. Jasculs takes her hand and lets her do so, though without looking at her.

“Thank you,” he mutters. Werythra doesn’t reply nor does Jasculs see her reaction, his gaze directed at the ground.

Werythra takes Jasculs’ hand and leads him to walk alongside herself, Sæunn, and Keizi, Thyridrunn trailing behind. However, Sæunn runs ahead to the best of her ability, squaking happily. Soon after, Thyridrunn trots after her, disappearing into the hut. 

Keizi chuckles, and Werythra comments about young animals in a joyful tone. Jasculs, on the other hand, doesn’t share the same joy. He cannot help but think about how Svala is missing from this whole ordeal; how him and Sæunn haven’t seen each other in a while; how him and Thyridrunn would need to be introduced to each other at  _ some  _ point, anyway.

So, Jasculs pipes up, asking if he’s allowed to summon Svala inside the hut. He doesn’t want to blow their cover by doing it out here, but the summoning tends to leave a bit of a fel-burn. Keizi waves dismissively, saying he’s welcome to bring his third animal companion into the mix. The current rescues are outside, anyway, to make sure Jasculs and the gang isn’t constantly interrupted by curious and needy animals.

Not that Jasculs hears any of it. He simply stalks to the livingroom before reaching out a hand. His index finger tabs the air, and a fel portal immediately blooms from that spot. Svala jumps out of it, purposely crashing into him and bringing him to the ground. The felsaber licks his face, making Jasculs laugh loudly. He has to repeatedly shove Svala’s head out of his face to get the concentration to close the portal, but closed it gets. Then, he scratches Svala beneath his chin before clapping his flank to get him to move off of him. However, Sæunn has come over, rubbing her head against Svala’s cheek and neck, making Svala far too distracted to move. That is, until he circles Sæunn, all the while purring loudly.

As Jasculs stands, Thyridrunn hesitantly walks over to Sæunn and Svala. Jasculs makes sure none of them attack each other before looking back up to where Keizi and his mother were - except only Werythra is there, leaning against the wall with a sweet smile on her face.

“Keizi has gone to wake everyone up,” Werythra informs him, and Jasculs lowers his head after nodding and looks at his burned hands. His heart does a flip.

Jasculs doesn’t look up before he hears footsteps coming near. At first he expects his mother to be walking closer, but then the rhythm of the feet speeds up. Running. Werythra wouldn’t run when so close already.

A high-pitched voice yells “Ann’da!”, and Jasculs immediately falls to his knees to be closer to Kina’s height. The word is hurled into his heart, boring a hole into it like a knife that’s slowly being twisted around. He’s in tears several seconds before Kina lunges herself at his chest, clinging around his neck and crying into it. Who of them is crying heaviest nobody can tell. Especially not when Sol’alore joins them on the floor, wrapping his arms Jasculs’ shoulders and Kina’s upper body. 

From then on, Jasculs doesn’t register much of what is happening or being talked about. He’s too busy nursing his little family’s hearts, including his own. However, he  _ does  _ notice Zatna and the Tauren that he briefly noticed before bolting off to Teldrassil apologize. They apologise for Mo’hir, too, to which Jasculs simply shakes his head.

Even as loud chatter fills the house - especially from Zatna - Jasculs, Sol’alore, and Kina do not participate much. Jasculs himself doesn’t participate until he is asked something, and even then his replies are usually short.

At one point, Keizi asks where the names for Jasculs’ animal companions come from. In her delightful and adorable broken attempt at orcish Kina explains how Jasculs and Sol’alore fred all the Thorignir from the Vrykul and two of the clan leaders honored them and threw a feast for them. The things that aren’t entirely understandable and any of the other people in the room question, Sol’alore and Jasculs clean up.

“So… your mounts are named after the clan leaders?” Knoton asks.

“Yes,” Jasculs replies matter-of-factly. 

“But you have three mounts,” Zatna points out.

Jasculs chuckles and scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, uh. Thyridrunn is named after Sæunn’s brother. Fun guy. You’d get along with him, I’m sure.”

Outside the hut, disturbed and concerned voices suddenly sound. Jasculs cannot tell what is being said or who is saying what. Judging by the look of concern on Knoton, Keizi, and Zatna’s faces, they certainly do.

Standing, Knoton speaks with a serious voice coated in a sweet calm. “How about going out and playing with the raptor kids, Kina?” 

Immediately, Kina is gripping onto Jasculs, who’s looking at Knoton with question. Jasculs senses a danger in the air, strengthened by the way Knoton is looking at them in determination. It’s especially strengthened when Zatna and Keizi stand to walk to the front, Keizi not even bothering to correct Knoton’s terminology. 

Exchanging a glance with Sol’alore, who looks equally concerned, Jasculs nods. As he stands, Jasculs asks Kina to show him the way, to which she grabs onto his hand and enthusiastically drags him towards the back of the hut.

Unlike with all the other huts Jasculs has seen thus far, this one is build so you can walk out of the back, too. It leads directly down to an enclosure of sorts, several adult raptors resting in a big pile. Jasculs has never seen raptors exceed such a behavior and cannot help raising an eyebrow. 

The moment they step into the enclosure, a sound fills the air. It sounds like the mix of a screech and a roar, Jasculs thinks, just as chimera bigger than him lands in front of them. He can hear Sol’alore laughing as he freezes, green Sin’dorei eyes wide in shock.

The smaller hands around his own let go, and Jasculs looks down to see Kina laughing and running directly into the chimera, tail and wings out. The chimera falls onto its back with a dramatic screech, Kina jumping onto its stomach. She roars in her adorable kid fashion and raises her hands into that imitating claws thing she does whenever she plays. However, whatever it is she was planning she doesn’t get to do as four raptors - Jasculs recognizes them as falcosaurs from the Broken Isles - half her size jump onto her. Kina falls off the chimera with a yell before immediately laughing and playing with the falcosaurs.

The sight makes Jasculs smile and eyes finally,  _ finally  _ fully relax. His smile only widens when Sol’alore snakes an arm around his waist, making Jasculs sigh. For the first time in days, it’s a happy sigh.

For a while, they stand there. Worries nag at the back of Jasculs’ mind, screaming he does not deserve this quiet, happy moment. The sight is too good for his eyes, and he doesn’t have the heart to disagree. Not anymore. But, he wants to hurt Kina and Sol’alore even less… so he stays, watching silently, the shadow of a smile on his face.

Tilting his head to rest it on top of Sol’alore’s, Jasculs closes his eyes. As he lets himself engulf in the scent of Sol’alore and then smell of his hair, Jasculs hears him huff out a laugh. It brings a proud smile to his face and he can’t help placing a kiss to the top of his head.

“Sap.” comes from beneath the faded red hair.

“Only for you.”

“Oh, really now?” replies Sol’alore, challenge giving his tone a sharp edge. It makes Jasculs frown, then whimper and bury his face further into Sol’alore’s hair in embarrassment. 

“All for you?” offers Jasculs.

Sol’alore snorts. Jasculs can hear his smile when he speaks. “That’s better.”

Content with the answer, Jasculs wraps his arms around Sol’alore, his face still buried in his hair. Jasculs hums as warmth spreads in his chest, and suddenly he feels choked. The warmth makes him all too aware of the metaphorical knife in his chest and the pain it emits.

Hugging Sol’alore tighter,  Jasculs does his best to steady his breathing. Even though he manages to keep it from getting terribly uneven, tears still wet Sol’alore’s hair.

As he cries, eyes closed and the smell of Sol’alore all aroybd him, Jasculs only very vaguely notices Sol’alore’s hands on his upper arms. Even more vague is the change in pressure on his shoulder; it goes from nothing, just air and dust particles hugging him - to a gentle press of warmth. Jasculs doesn’t pay it any mind until the pressure tightens in a gesture he assumes is to get his attention.

Looking up, Jasculs is met with the concerned face of his mother. She isn’t even trying to put on a sweet smile anymore.

“Mom?” croaks Jasculs, tone sounding the worry swirling around in his mind. 

“Your friend, Mo’hir…” she starts, though she hesitates, taking her bottom lip in between her teeth. “She has gotten herself in quite a bit of trouble. Says she surely will be having a bounty hanging over her head quite soon. With her line of work being what it is, I am not doubting her in the slightest.”

Jasculs’ chest feels tight, like someone is trying to cramp it down to being half its size.

“What are you getting at, Werythra?” asks Sol’alore as Jasculs lets him out of his embrace. There’s a slight hint of defense in his voice, Jasculs can tell. It make him suck in a harsh breath.

“It’s no longer safe for her to stay here.”

“And?” Sol’alore presses.

“I do not think it’s fair she will die for disagreeing with her warchief’s actions. So - of course, I don’t even know if I am allowed to accompany you on your journey, though I would like to, but- but I have told Mo’hir that I, and with that by extend also you, will gladly travel with her to keep her out of Sylvanas’ claws,” Werythra informs them, though Jasculs easily recognizes the quick wording and slight wavering as nervous rambling rather than informative speaking.

Taking a deep breath, Werythra speaks again. “I understand if you do not wish to travel with us, but I intend to stay with Mo’hir.”

Mindlessly, Jasculs nods and, for a moment, him and Sol’alore lock eyes. Sol’alore is concerned, it shines in his eyes. However, recognition bleeds through and easily outshines the concern;  _ especially  _ when he focuses on Jasculs. Jasculs supposes he notices how wet his eyes are.

“As long as she doesn’t hurt Kina,” Jasculs speaks with a hoarse voice, tearing his eyes away from Sol’alore’s to look at his mother. “then you’re both welcome.”

A sigh of relief comes from Werythra and a small smile erupts on her face. The relief is also in her voice when she says, “I’ll go tell Mo’hir that, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading this clusterfuck !! t'was fun to write but also i am so sorry jasculs & everyone else
> 
> you can find more of me and my idiots here: https://warcraftingfox.tumblr.com/
> 
> *HISSES AT THE NOTES BELOW BC I CANT REMOVE IT*

**Author's Note:**

> YEAH THAT WAS A TRIP WASNT IT
> 
> i havent gone in-depth with grammar and spelling mistakes so sorry 'bout that. also sorry about that ending but, hey, im so not-satisfied-whatsoever myself i want to write a follow up of some kind lmaO
> 
> anyways you can find more of me and my idiots here: https://warcraftingfox.tumblr.com/


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